


Lean Into The Light

by TowardTheStars



Series: Midnight Sun [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Next Generation, POV Sirius Black, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Recovery, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Secret Relationship, Self Care, Severus Snape Needs a Hug, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:09:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowardTheStars/pseuds/TowardTheStars
Summary: When Sirius Black sees Severus Snape for the first time since Azkaban, he doesn't know what to do.But, most importantly, he doesn't know if after living for thirteen years in darkness, he can still find his way to the light.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Severus Snape & Fleur Delacour, Severus Snape & George Weasley, Sirius Black & Bill Weasley, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Series: Midnight Sun [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761829
Comments: 65
Kudos: 198





	1. Black Smoke Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the sequel to Used to the Darkness. 
> 
> While it could technically be read as a separate piece (with an understanding of an established relationship in the first war), I still highly recommend reading the first work to provide a better context. 
> 
> The work title is from the song The Calling by the Killers.

Sirius didn’t know why he waited. Dumbledore had ordered him to Remus’s immediately, yet –.

“Black,” Snape said, the infirmary door slamming shut behind him. Sirius stared at the floor as his hands tightened into fists.

He couldn’t forget the fact that Snape had nearly handed him to the dementors a year ago. He had, though, forgotten most of the _before._ He could remember Snape’s eyes, remembered him looking at him in certain ways that Sirius distantly remembered mattering, and the hate. He knew so much of hate.

Most else was lost. The Dementors had drained it out of him over the years. He remembered fighting them at first; he tried to keep everything – James and Remus and Severus. The Dementors proved too powerful. Their skeletal hands had torn piece after piece away from him until he had finally conceded to their influence. They drained him, left him frozen and empty. Sirius often wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

“I wasn’t the secret keeper,” Sirius ground out, gaze set on a crack in the stone. For years, he had wondered if Snape had known. It had offered a glimmer of hope initially – some of the later additions had spoken of a free Severus Snape, one saved by the graces of a benevolent Dumbledore. He had taken up at Hogwarts, and they itched for the day to teach that filthy traitor the lesson he deserved. Bellatrix, especially. They had thrown them in the same wing, and Sirius thought for years her maniacal laughter would drive him insane.

Initially, he had thought Snape would storm in and save him from the nightmare. He was the only one he had left and the only one who would see the truth. He would know Sirius would never have betrayed James. He would know that Sirius would never destroy their love so viciously. He would _know._

He didn’t come.

Sirius eventually gave up hope, along with most else.

Snape blinked. He didn’t speak for a long moment. “Dumbledore told me you were.” His voice was soft and steady, and memory twitched in the crevice of Sirius’s mind. That voice used to speak to him through the depths of the shadows and in the quiet of the night. He knew that, he thought. He shook the memory away.

“He lied,” he hissed, the betrayal stinging against his skin. He had always wondered _why_. Regardless of what he had done or who he had been, nothing warranted life in Azkaban.

“Yes,” Snape acceded quietly.

“So you thought I-?” Sirius’s face pulled into a harsh scowl. Snape had been important to him – he knew that once, didn’t he?

“I-,” Snape paused and glanced at his arm. “No. I didn’t. At least, not willingly. But I couldn’t have- I was in no position to-so Albus told me-.”

“You left me there,” Sirius stated. He surprised himself with the hollowness of his voice. All he could feel was rage and betrayal and guilt; he would have expected some of it to leak out.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Sirius felt a jolt of surprise. He had expected something else. Excuses like Remus, or calculating indifference like Dumbledore. Not an apology. Not an admission of guilt. He frowned at the words and lifted his head to look at Snape.

He had expected some emotion or, at the very least, a memory to surface. Severus in bed, he knew that had happened. The dementors hadn’t spared that from him, but he thought he would once again feel the weight of the hazy memories he maintained.

He only thought of how defiant Snape’s eyes looked. They still had the sense that they contained blasted rubble, but it had not been enough to strip back his courage.

Sirius knew his eyes only looked haunted.

“I have to go,” Snape finally said, glancing away.

“To him?” Sirius asked, even though he already knew the answer. Dumbledore would need his spy.

Snape gave a small nod.

"Think he’ll kill you?” Sirius tilted his head. The hollow cavern of his chest remained silent.

“Perhaps,” Snape replied simply. He glanced sideways to look at Sirius one last time. Sirius didn’t speak. He wondered if Snape knew the boy he loved had died.

Snape left quickly, leaving Sirius alone as ghosts haunted the edge of his vision.

**++++++++++++**

He didn’t see Snape again for another month. He spent the time with Remus, reaching out to Order contacts and setting up Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. He hated the house. He hated Kreacher. He hated and hated and _hated_.

He supposed it made it easier – love had become a foreign concept and one he had been stripped of any hope of understanding. Azkaban didn’t afford something so benign. No, all he had was vengeance and anger and hate.

He knew he frightened Remus. He didn’t care.

At the first meeting, Snape had met his eyes for a moment, dark eyes fathomless. They searched Sirius’s for something, but he glanced away when he seemed unable to find it. They didn’t speak.

**++++++++++++**

They fought. They fought a lot.

Sirius nearly wanted to kiss him for the fact that he would fight with him – nothing else came close to the surge of adrenaline and fierceness of seeking ways to destroy. They fought so well together Sirius reasoned it was like they were making love.

Pleasure had faded from his understanding, but he did remember how their bodies used to move together. He remembered the sex towards the end and how he thought it felt like one soul fractured into two bodies.

Fighting was the closest Sirius could get to reclaim that sense of understanding and intimacy. When Snape and he fought, they become two voices snarling concordantly. They became spite and pride and anger split evenly between two bodies.

Sirius hadn’t realized he could still feel a connection with anyone. He hadn’t shared a connection in nearly thirteen years, with the possible exception of his godson. In Azkaban, one did all they could to avoid connecting with the others. He had cut that part of his soul out of himself.

Or at least he thought he did. With Snape, he doubted himself. He could sense the smallest sputtering near his heart as if something was trying desperately to restart. The fights seemed to strengthen that small sputtering – it was such an honest expression of emotion that Sirius had so dearly missed.

He wondered if Snape understood that their fights made Sirius feel like he could claw away some of the dirt the Dementors had buried him in. Or if Snape only saw what he said he did – a coward, a dog, a _monster._

Sirius wanted to tell him that he was right on all accounts. He was a monster who had killed his best friend and orphaned a child and shattered his lover’s heart.

He didn’t though, and they fought as summer faded into fall and froze into winter.

**++++++++++++**

In February, Sirius decided to kiss Snape. He had started dreaming of the other man, a welcome relief from his nightmares.

He dreamed of a younger Snape, one with defiant eyes and alabaster skin and confident hands. He dreamt of him in bed and him bloodied in the street and him in his Death Eater robes, tracing the lines of his mask with trembling fingers. He never spoke and would only stare at Sirius as if expecting something. He faded into smoke every time Sirius tried to touch him.

Eventually, he decided that the real man, who would not fade into smoke, would be worth trying to touch. If nothing else, he was lonely and hadn’t been touched in fourteen years, and he thought it would be nice to feel another’s warmth against his icy skin.

He had enjoyed Snape’s presence in bed before; perhaps he would again.

He was right. He did.

**++++++++++++**

In May, Sirius fell.

He fell and fell and fell.

The veil coated him in wisps of silver as he fell through an endless sky. He could see phantoms around him, reaching out with translucent hands. He thought he saw Regulus and James amongst them, beckoning him onwards.

He started to reach out to them, arm trembling with effort as he disturbed the silver mist. His fingertips had almost reached James’s when he saw another hand reach out to him.

He knew the hand, had seen it splayed against his chest more times than he could count. He could see the elegant fingers and the pale scars. He could see the start of the bony wrist and the angular forearm. The hand grasped blindly for something, and Sirius knew it was looking for him.

James started to yell at him, face warping in rage. Something ugly split open the phantom, and Sirius stared at something that was decidedly not James or even faintly human. No, he stared at hell. He reached with all his strength for the hand that searched for him among the demons.

Sirius managed to grab hold of it. It yanked him upward. Sirius felt all his skin tear off with the force of it. The demons screamed below him. Sirius’s mind split at the pain.

**++++++++++++**

When he woke, Sirius felt sheets scratch against his skin. He opened his eyes slowly, mouth dry and throat burning. Every breath felt labored as if his body had forgotten such an action existed.

He didn’t have the strength to lift his head, so he turned it, eyes angling out into the small, dark room. It took a moment for his eyes to make out anything in the dim light, but he managed to distinguish a figure sitting in a chair. The person had his head bent down, hands twisting in his lap. The figure jolted when he realized Sirius had awoken. He stood suddenly to cross the room.

“Se-,” Sirius tried to rasp out, but his voice failed him. Instead, he stared up at his lover’s aquiline features. The weak candlelight cast shadows over the man’s face, so Sirius couldn’t make out his eyes. However, something about them unnerved him. He fought against a bubbling of fear.

“Sirius,” Snape replied in that low, smooth voice. It acted as a balm against Sirius’s anxiety, and his hand twitched in an attempt to reach out to the other man.

“Wh-,” Sirius tried again to even less success. Snape noticed and propped up Sirius’s head to help him drink a glass of water. He swallowed with difficulty, but the liquid soothed his coarse throat. “What-,” he started, peering up at Snape with near desperation. He could remember the fight and Bellatrix and then falling and falling. He should be dead.

Snape ran a hand across Sirius’s forehead, pushing away some strands of hair. Sirius could just make out a frown, and then Snape pulled away and retreated back to the chair. He sat and spoke into the darkness.

“I devised a spell that allowed me to reach past the Veil,” Snape explained quietly to the night. “I managed to reach for you and pull you back.”

Sirius shut his eyes as he heard the words.

“Ho-how lo-?” His voice broke to his growing frustration. Snape waited a long moment before responding.

“A year and a half,” Snape answered, head ducking down a fraction. “I wasn’t able to access the Department of Mysteries until recently.”

“Oh-,” Sirius exhaled. He licked his lips and felt a measure of relief. He had expected years and years. He expected another Azkaban, another thirteen years lost to him. But no, a year –a year was nothing.

Except – except a year of war.

“Ha-Harry?” he forced out, suddenly frightened. He could remember seeing the boy’s face breaking into horror and loss as he had fallen back into the Veil. Then – nothing.

Every moment it took for Snape to respond, his fear rocketed up.

“Alive,” Snape replied. Sirius could tell he still had his eyes shut. “He’s – on the run. With the Weasley boy and Granger.”

“A-and?” Sirius tried, thinking of Remus and Tonks and everyone else. Oh lord, if any of them were dead…

Snape paused and then spoke with difficulty. Sirius tried to prepare himself for the grief, but he knew it was useless. “Moody is…he died. Two of the Weasley boys have been hurt, but not – and, and-,” he stumbled and broke off. Sirius could hear his breathing turn ragged. “Dumbledore.”

Of everyone, Sirius had not expected him. He felt little grief – Dumbledore had never liked him, and he had never liked Dumbledore all that much either. Still, he was the figurehead of the Light, the only wizard who could stand against Voldemort and to lose him crippled the Order.

And if he was dead then – Voldemort must have won. With Harry on the run and the Order likely fractured, they had lost the war. Everything he had fought for ultimately meaningless. His throat burned with the searing disappointment and failure.

“Oh,” Sirius exhaled because he didn’t know what else to say. For one moment, he wished Snape had left him to fall. Then, he wouldn’t have to face this terrifying loss.

Snape fell silent, head bent down. Sirius couldn’t stand to look at him, so he stared at a spot on the ceiling.

“D-does h-he k-know about you?” Sirius forced out through sandpaper.

“No,” Snape admitted. “I’m his – his most trusted.”

Sirius let the words wash over him. Suddenly, nothing made sense. Dumbledore dead, but Snape still serving Voldemort. Harry on the run and likely without hope. Everything lost.

“I was the one-,” Snape said abruptly as if the words had fought their way out of his mouth. “To kill. To kill Dumbledore.”

Sirius didn’t react.

“You did?” he finally whispered. He must have missed more than he could have ever thought. His disappointment transmuted into numbness. His eyes burned, so he shut them. “B-back to y-your other m-master then?”

Another long period of silence. Sirius thought back to the silver wisps that whispered of peace. Forgetfulness without the hollowness of knowing he had forgotten.

When Snape spoke again, his voice had turned distant and clinical. Sirius tried not to let it disturb him. “You’re alive once again, Black. You may remain here. In this house, you are safe. However, I understand that may seem less than desirable. I can put you back into contact with Lupin. The Order is greatly weakened, but they still maintain a resistance.”

“Ye-yes,” Sirius whispered. “D-don’t. Not a coward,” he gritted out. Snape gave a small nod, and Sirius once again wanted to reach out to him. He didn’t understand the desire; Snape had betrayed them and murdered their leader. He should want nothing more to do with the man.

However, he had recovered a sense of their beginning. Of Snape in that bar and then in his bed, and then how he had fallen in love with him even though the Dark Mark lay starkly against his skin. He had never suffered delusions over the morality of Snape. Yet – yet, the man had protected his brother. Had saved those children that one searing night in August. Had betrayed the Dark Lord and loved Sirius and Lily with every inch of his soul.

He felt reluctant to leave. To let go. Snape had reached through the Veil of death for him – surely, that meant something.

“Still-,” Sirius started, and he saw Snape tense out of the corner of his eye. “W-want you. S-saved me. L-loved y-you as a D-death Eater.”

He thought he heard Snape’s breath catch, but he blamed imagination. The man had saved him from Death, he had –

“No,” Snape replied quietly. “No, it can’t -.”

“S-saved me,” Sirius forced out. “D-don’t want t-to be w-without you.”

He didn’t want to live without Snape. He hadn’t wanted to live without Snape since he was impossibly young at twenty. To lose Snape meant the Dementors would win. He couldn’t live with something like that.

Even if they hated the other and spent every day fighting, Sirius would take that ten times over than a blank, empty life with no one able to conjure a shred of feeling from his withered heart.

Soulmates, he had thought once when young and idealistic and painfully romantic. Perhaps still.

He didn’t hear Snape leave, but his mind once again dissolved into fog. He lost himself to nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who followed this here from Used to the Darkness, welcome! This is my sequel to that story for the ending needed far more resolution. I'm happy with this work, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> An interesting note - I'm not entirely sure the canon reason why Dumbledore left Sirius in Azkaban (I've read a few theories on his need for Harry to stay at the Dursley's, but I'm entirely sure his reasoning). Still, Dumbledore couldn't risk Severus trying to break Sirius out, and in effect, put himself at tremendous risk of ending up in Azkaban himself. So, I rationalized that he made the decision to lie about the identity of the Secret Keeper so Snape could plausibly believe in a betrayal and remain under the radar and untouched by the Aurors. Severus probably understood this too, which is why he didn't pursue Sirius, knowing that him disturbing the Ministry would lead to his own imprisonment as suspicion was cast upon him once again. Seeing as he had to do everything he could to protect Harry, he knew he couldn't make that choice. 
> 
> Still sad, of course, but I hope that explains that line of rationale a little bit better! 
> 
> xx


	2. In Front of the Judge

When he woke, Snape was gone.

He lay alone, limbs entangled in sweat-soaked sheets. He felt sick, over-heated and over-bright, and when he managed to bring a hand up to his forehead, he felt himself burn.

He thought he might die again; the fever eroded at his consciousness. He didn’t though – didn’t want to die again. He still saw James’s face warping into a demonic imitation, and he thought he would rather face eternal agony than that horrific mockery of his best friend.

He wasn’t aware of much. Once, a cool cloth on his hand. Another, a foul potion forced between his lips. Saw shadows but the fever drove him to paranoia. He clenched his eyes shut, desperate to rid of his phantoms.

“James?” he choked out when his mind blurred just a little too much. “James? Is that?”

There was no response, so Sirius just shut his eyes and let his body burn around him.

**++++++++++++**

The fever broke.

He dragged himself out of the bed, mind groggy and body aching. His muscles trembled with fatigue, but he pushed himself forward.

A door. A hallway. Stairs. Careful now, he didn’t want to fall. Another hallway. A kitchen. A man bent over the sink, shoulders tense and arms rigid.

Sirius didn’t speak, and Snape didn’t either. Not for a long while. Not until Sirius almost fell over and had to grab the doorframe stop himself from collapsing.

Snape saw and rushed over to him. With firm hands, he guided him to a chair where Sirius gratefully sat. With Sirius settled, he turned back to the sink and started to pick at a small array of herbs he had cultivated on the windowsill.

Sirius watched him – his fingers running over the freshness of the basil and the springiness of the thyme and the coarseness of the mint. The pale skin contrasting with the dark green leaves made Sirius swallow hard.

“Thank you,” he finally stuttered out, coughing when his voice failed him. He heard the tap run, and then Snape placed a glass of water in front of him. Sirius drank greedily. “Thank you,” he repeated. “I-.”

Snape waved a hand in dismissal, his back once again towards Sirius. He wore his black robes, and Sirius couldn’t help but feel that he wore them as armor.

“No matter, Black. It’s good to see the fever has broken,” he paused and held onto the kitchen counter. “I believe Lupin is currently at Andromeda Tonks’s house. He’d be eager to see you. Potter’s whereabouts are a mystery as of now. He was last spotted in London, after spending some time with the Weasley’s but you should-.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Sirius interrupted bluntly, even if the answer felt abundantly clear. He wished he could see Snape’s face, but the man remained turned away from him as if he couldn’t trust himself to meet Sirius’s gaze.

His body remained rigid. “I believe it would be best.”

Sirius frowned and considered the man. “What happened?”

Snape flinched at the question, and Sirius’s frown deepened. He ached to touch the other man, but he knew he couldn’t. Not yet.

“The Dark Lord has gained control of the Ministry,” Snape informed emotionlessly. “He hunts Potter, who has gone into hiding with Granger and Weasley. The resistance is greatly weakened after the death of Dumbledore, but there are still-.”

“No,” Sirius interrupted. “What happened to you?”

The following silence held a devastation that gutted Sirius. Snape didn’t respond, only tightened his grip on the kitchen counter. Sirius watched him for a long moment and then forced his aching legs to stand. He crossed the space and before he could question himself, he moved behind Snape and with the slowest, gentlest movements he could manage, he wrapped his arms around the other’s waist.

Snape tensed and shuddered at the touch, but he didn’t pull away and Sirius didn’t let go. He kept his grasp loose and open, didn’t press his chest against Snape’s back or breathe into his hair. The intimacy of it nearly overwhelmed him anyway. He noticed, though, that Snape felt far skinnier than he last remembered. He wondered if he had been eating.

Then he remembered that Snape must have mourned him. He had died, after all. He had died and left Snape on the other side of the Veil, and the man must have mourned. Another death, he thought. Another person Snape had lost.

And yet…

“What happened to you?” Sirius whispered, keeping his voice soft. His breath shifted a few strands of Snape’s hair, and Sirius could just see the tender spot behind his ear. He wanted to kiss him there, but he resisted.

“You-you should go,” Snape said, sounding almost strangled. “You should-.”

“No,” Sirius whispered. “No, Severus.”

The name did the trick for he leaned backward into Sirius’s arms, seeming to forget himself for a moment. His back pressed into Sirius’s chest, and Sirius carefully tightened his grip on his waist, holding him close.

“What happened?” he asked again, voice gentle as he pressed his cheek against the back of Snape’s head.

He didn’t think Snape would respond, but then he did, voice wavering at the edges as he forced control over it.

“You died,” he said. “Then another year of spying. Of…” he broke off, the words twisting in his mouth. “I killed Dumbledore. In May. Also…also Moody. In July,” he confessed haltingly. Sirius shut his eyes. “I’ve been serving the Dark Lord since. I have assumed the role of Headmaster.”

“Why?” Sirius asked. Severus didn’t respond for a moment and then awkwardly shrugged against Sirius’s chest. “Severus…”

“It had to happen!” he snarled suddenly, anger scorching his voice. “All of it! You should go, Black. Let me be!”

“Severus…” he tried again as the man tensed in anger. He didn’t relinquish his hold, but Severus yanked himself out of Sirius’s grasp and strode to the opposite end of the kitchen.

“Leave,” he hissed, the word trembling ever so slightly. “You’re alive. Go help Potter. Don’t…” he warned. Sirius took in his shaking frame and the tightness of his muscles and the way that he wouldn’t look directly at him.

Sirius suddenly felt weak again, and he stumbled back to the chair to collapse into it. He swallowed thickly as he grew nauseous. He felt Snape’s gaze flicker over to him as if to check his wellbeing, but he looked away just as quickly.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius murmured, steadying his hands on the table. “Why you would…you never…you don’t.”

“Things change,” Snape responded coolly, sounding more like he used to. Sirius shook his head.

“Not that.”

“Maybe I got tired of being used?” Snape continued, voice growing heated. “Tired of Dumbledore sending me off like a dog to be kicked at? Maybe I got tired of how he wouldn’t trust me, wouldn’t tell me anything? Of how he asked too much? Maybe I realized once again that the Dark Lord offered what I always wanted – power and control and -.”

“No,” Sirius interrupted softly, and Snape fell quiet as his angry diatribe lost steam.

“No?” he asked, voice dropping again as he stripped emotion from it.

Sirius shook his head. “You don’t want that.”

“I don’t?” Snape repeated, voice frighteningly empty.

Sirius shook his head again and fought against the sudden surge of fatigue. He wanted to sleep and never wake. “No,” he continued quietly. “No, you don’t.”

“Then, pray tell, what else could I possibly want?” Snape snarled, and Sirius knew. He had always known for he had always wanted the same.

“To be loved. That’s what you want.”

The words silenced Snape, and Sirius raised his head tiredly to meet his eyes. He couldn’t for Snape still had his face turned away, but Sirius could read him through the trembling of his hands and the sharp line of his shoulders.

Snape tried to speak, but his voice broke and he had to start again. “If so, why would I kill Dumbledore then? Moody? Why would I-?”

“Why did you?”

Snape clutched his hand to his chest and leaned heavily against the counter. His hair obscured his features. He looked so terribly alone that Sirius’s heart ached. Several minutes passed, and then a broken whisper disturbed the silence.

“Albus asked me to,” he confessed so quietly as if not to exist. “He was dying already. Wanted me to spare…to spare him of suffering and to protect Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco Malfoy?” Sirius exhaled, keeping his voice as unobtrusive as possible. Snape nodded, still clutching his hand to his chest.

“The Dark Lord tasked him to kill Albus. As punishment for Lucius Malfoy’s failure in the Ministry. He…Albus asked me to spare his soul.”

“By having you-?”

Snape nodded and bent over slightly as if the weight on his shoulders had grown too heavy.

“And Alastor?” Sirius asked, thinking back to how Moody had often argued in defense of Snape at the Order meetings. He hadn’t understood it at first, but he had gotten Snape to explain that they had a friendship of sorts. A mutual respect for their sacrifices in the war.

And to think now that Snape held responsibility for his death. Two people he respected and admired, Sirius realized. Two people he loved dead because of him.

He shook in the face of Snape’s agony.

Snape continued painfully, words wrenched from his throat. “They got Potter out of his house by flying. Had…I planted the idea but had to tell the Dark Lord. They all got out except…”

“Alastor,” Sirius finished.

Snape twitched at the name. Sirius could just out make the harsh furrows on his face through the veil of hair.

“Yes,” he forced out through his teeth. “The Dark Lord…hit him with a curse, and he fell. I went back…found him. He was…still alive, but he wasn’t going to…asked me to - to do it.”

“So you did,” Sirius finished quietly again. Neither spoke for many heartbeats. Sirius’s mind whirled with the information – about what Snape had done and why he had done so. He felt bile sour his throat, for, despite the good intentions, he knew Snape agonized over what he had done.

He had always known Snape loved deeper than most, and he bent his head in sorrow for Snape and all that he suffered.

Snape inhaled sharply and straightened himself out, back rigid. “You should go, Black. Regardless of…I’m still serving the Dark Lord. I’m still…there’s nothing here anymore.”

Sirius examined his hands, throat aching painfully. “I don’t want to leave you,” he admitted for he couldn’t survive that loss. To lose Snape would mean returning to the man that had crawled out of Azkaban. Lost and angry and hollow. Devoid of anything remotely good in this world.

“You must,” Snape stressed, turning away from Sirius. The distance stretched between them, morphing until he felt miles away. Even the thought of touching Snape felt barred by an insurmountable gap.

He would have cried, but he had nothing left.

“Let me see you,” he pleaded softly, unwilling to fully concede to the encroaching loss. “Please.”

Snape considered his words, hands held ever so carefully at his side. Sirius counted his breaths and fought against the upsurge of despair. “No.”

“Please,” Sirius tried again, but Snape didn’t respond. Sirius thought for a moment, desperation lapping at his feet. “You’re at Hogwarts? I can get into Hogwarts. You saved me for a reason. Please don’t let it be in vain.”

Snape twitched and pressed his lips together so that the color started to seep out. “You understand…?” he asked, his voice once again fragile.

“Yes,” Sirius stated confidently for he did in a way. “We did the same in the first war. We can do it again.”

Snape thought and then nodded a few times, fingers twitching at his side. “No one can know.”

“Of course,” Sirius murmured, watching as Snape crossed the room. He kept his face firmly turned away from Sirius, but he reached out hesitantly to rest his hand on top of Sirius’s.

His hand was freezing, so Sirius brought his other hand on top to try to rub some warmth into it. After a while, Sirius brought it to his mouth and kissed it, paper-thin skin against his lips. They did nothing else, and finally, Sirius left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> This Severus is very lonely and sad and just needs someone to be there for him. I'm not sure the depth of his loneliness and isolation in the Deathly Hallows is every fully conveyed in canon, but I imagine it to be devastating. 
> 
> xx


	3. Horizons Into Battlegrounds

Remus had a child. A beautiful child with soft brown eyes and hair that shifted color, just like his mother’s.

For the first time in a long time, Sirius cried.

**++++++++++++**

He explained to the two of them that he had woken up -- that the Veil must have deemed him unworthy and spit him out or that it decided he had more to accomplish in the world of the living.

He didn’t know what had happened. He lied and said he couldn’t remember anything from beyond the Veil. He didn’t mention Snape but expressed the expected outrage when Remus and Tonks told him he killed Dumbledore. 

Remus didn’t understand why, the betrayal evident in his eyes. He had always believed in Snape. Always thought him a better man than how he presented himself. Sirius wanted to tell him he wasn’t wrong, but he remained silent.

Tonks was furious. She _hated_ Snape like everyone else who knew he had killed Albus Dumbledore. She had sworn revenge, and Sirius balked in the face of her anger and in the realization that Snape must have lost everyone in that one horrific act. That his true motives remained a secret and because of that, everyone in the Order – all those people Sirius had watched him build shaky friendships with – wished him dead.

They told him of Harry, sent out on a mission by Dumbledore to destroy You-Know-Who once and for all. They stopped Sirius from speaking his name – a taboo they explained. Remus had visited them at Grimmauld Palace where the three of them had retreated to. They had seemed alright, focused on their mission—of which Remus and Tonks knew nothing.

Sirius had asked to go, desperate to see Harry again, but Remus shook his head and explained that the location had been compromised. Harry had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and in the turmoil of escape, a Death Eater had gained access to Grimmauld. They could no longer return, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained free, hidden somewhere in the U.K.

Remus told him of the state of the wizarding world and the efforts of the resistance. He described You-Know-Who’s influence and who they had lost and how Harry now felt like their only hope.

Afterward, Sirius sat on the bed in the guest room and hid his head in his hands and breathed slowly and deeply to push away the horror and dread and crushing sense of hopelessness.

**++++++++++++**

He snuck into Hogwarts two weeks later.

He retraced the once-familiar path – the creek that led to the Shrieking Shack. The rotting hole through which he could enter the Shrieking Shack. The dark winding tunnel that took him to the Whomping Willow. The path of bushes and shrubs he followed into the castle.

And then Hogwarts, majestic in its glory. He still remembered the path to the Headmaster’s office from his time as a student, and he followed it slowly, sniffing for a too-recent scent and craning his ears for the sound of footsteps.

No one disturbed him, so he padded quietly through the hallways. He shook the snow from his fur, slinking against the walls. A staircase and then the stately gargoyle.

He whined and paced the hallway, and then to his relief, the gargoyle turned to the side, exposing a staircase that Padfoot bounded up. He pawed at the door and whined again. Snape took a moment but opened the door and ushered him in, closing the door shut behind him.

Padfoot shifted back into Sirius, who turned to face Snape.

Snape stood by the door, face still slightly downcast as if avoiding meeting Sirius’s eyes. He wore a long-sleeved black t-shirt and loose pants, but even still, Sirius could tell Snape had lost weight. The fact that he had always bordered on starved didn’t ease Sirius’s concern.

The Headmaster’s office looked as it always did with the array of portraits slumbering on the wall. Sirius spared a glance for Dumbledore, but the man rested in his portrait. He turned his attention back to Snape.

“You okay?” he asked.

Snape gave a tight shrug. “Fine,” he murmured in a way that Sirius knew he was distinctly not fine. He didn’t want to press him yet, so he let it stand.

“Cold out there,” Sirius said stupidly, wincing at his awkwardness and inability to bridge the divide that split the room. Snape nodded, face still turned away. Sirius couldn’t help but feel as if something had gone horribly wrong. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to feel alone.

He didn’t know what to do, so he waited in silence. Snape seemed to shake himself from something and then walked past Sirius and up the stairway. For one desperate moment, Sirius thought he would do as he had done before: that teasing smirk and the way he would look at him, black eyes glinting as they held Sirius’s. “Bed?” he would ask, voice lilting, and Sirius had always agreed, unable to resist the dare in his voice.

Not now, though. Snape didn’t say a word as he climbed the stairs. He left Sirius alone, and Sirius, not knowing what else to do, followed behind him.

The stairs led to a bedroom, but Sirius faltered when he stepped inside. It looked every bit like Albus Dumbledore’s room, filled with strange trinkets and piling stacks of books. The walls had a starry design on them, one that Sirius knew Snape would never opt for.

Snape looked like an imposter in it, standing next to the bed as he did. It was not his room. It was Albus Dumbledore’s, and Sirius felt his gut twist.

It was one thing to mourn the dead. It was another to live in the shadows of their lives. He wondered why Snape hadn’t done anything to change it. He wondered how he could stand it.

And yet, Sirius had never touched Regulus’s room. The dead retained their spaces, and Snape, burdened with guilt and grief, would have done nothing.

It still made Sirius feel horribly lost as if he had stumbled into a sick nightmare where nothing made sense and everything had grown far, far worse than he could have ever expected.

“You didn’t,” Sirius stuttered, gaze scanning around the room for some sign of Snape. “Didn’t change anything.”

Snape shrugged again – that tight, awkward jerk that hid something terrifying. “No,” he replied simply, and then with his face still away from Sirius, he sat on the bed, holding his hands in his lap.

Sirius watched him for a moment, and again, not knowing what else to do and increasingly panicked, sat beside him.

“Severus-,” he began, needing to say _something_. Snape shut him up by reaching out to rest his hand on Sirius’s crotch.

He could already feel that bright pinprick of arousal, and then Snape began to rub his hand, pressing down into the fabric of Sirius’s jeans. For a brief moment, Sirius thought he would let him. He craved the desire, the feel of Severus’s hand on him, the release.

Yet everything felt wrong. So impossibly wrong. He walked a nightmare, Snape’s robotic gesture at sex a perverted expression of the affection they had once shared.

Sirius pushed Snape’s hand away and then wrapped his fingers around his palm, holding that freezing hand in his own. He breathed heavily, tamping down violently against his desire. Snape didn’t protest, didn’t speak, didn’t even _look_ at him.

Sirius missed him so acutely it carved a hole in his side.

“Severus,” he began again, voice rough. Snape didn’t react. “I…” he trailed off, trying to organize his thoughts. He wanted to demand that Snape looked at him. That he explain what the hell was going on and why he was acting like that, and why the hell would he have saved Sirius from death if this was all he wanted?

But this was Severus, Sirius thought quietly. And his Severus always hid his pain, despite carrying enough to break most men. And how, in this dark, haunted room, his Severus screamed with agony.

“Could-,” Sirius asked haltingly. No sex, he thought. Not until Snape was ready for it. “Could I hold you tonight? We don’t-.”

That tight, jerky shrug. His face still turned away. Him shifting to the other side of the bed and lying down on top of the covers. His back far too tense, his hands clasped to his stomach.

Sirius pressed his hand to his mouth to smother the upwelling dry sob of horror. A year and a half, he thought, yet he couldn’t help but feel as if he had lost everything. Especially that man beside him who lay broken and bleeding.

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, biting against the flesh of his palm to distract himself from the torment in his soul. Severus, he thought. _Severus._

He couldn’t leave, he knew that. He couldn’t have sex. They wouldn’t talk. He would have to do as he had asked and hold him.

He indicated for Snape to shift slightly so that he could untuck the blankets and pull them up around the two of them. He shifted up next to Snape, feeling awkward despite having done it countless times. He wrapped an arm around his waist and sought his hands, entangling their fingers.

He kept his hips tilted away and his legs just barely brushing at their calves and ankles. Snape remained pliant, offering no objections. Sirius hoped the man actually wanted this.

He pressed a kiss onto the back of Snape’s head and then lay his head on a pillow, shutting his eyes as he pulled Snape closer. He still smelled the same, Sirius realized with enormous relief. Even though everything else felt irreparably damaged, Severus Snape still smelled the same.

With his lover in his arms, Sirius felt, despite the horror, that he had found a sliver of peace.

He didn’t know if Snape felt the same, but Sirius shuddered at the idea of relinquishing his hold. He figured he would rather just stay dead if it meant he would lose Snape in the process.

At one point, late in the night when Sirius felt sleep creep into his mind, he leaned forward to press a kiss against Snape’s cheek. Snape had only relaxed slightly in his hold, remaining far too tense for his position. He hadn’t spoken since Sirius had sat beside him on the bed, and Sirius could scarcely imagine his thoughts.

A year and a half of a brutal war separated them, and Sirius had never felt farther from his lover than he did lying beside him in Albus Dumbledore’s bed.

He had thought to kiss him gently as a small offering of comfort. He hadn’t expected Snape’s cheeks to be wet.

The fact that Snape was crying, so silently that Sirius hadn’t even realized, cut across him so painfully that Sirius gasped aloud. Snape noticed and panicked, trying to twist out of Sirius’s arms. His elbows jabbed into Sirius’s stomach, but Sirius ignored the pain and strengthened his hold. He noticed with worry how weak Snape felt, as if he had spent the past year neglecting his body.

“Shhh, you’re alright,” Sirius comforted, voice gentle as he found Snape’s hand and held it in his own. “You’re alright. It’s alright. Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you now. You’re okay. You’re safe.” He continued on, the soft words of comfort drifting through the night until Snape gave up in his efforts and settled back into Sirius’s arms.

Severus inhaled harshly and then exhaled, the breath seeming to catch in his chest. His fingers skittered against the back of Sirius’s hand. “S-sorry,” he stuttered, his voice breaking. He curled up into himself and started to bring his hand up to his face before realizing that Sirius had intertwined it in his own. His shoulders trembled, and Sirius pressed a kiss onto the curve of neck, heart aching and chest rupturing.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing and held Snape until dawn kissed the snow-blown mountains.

**++++++++++++**

From then on, he snuck into Hogwarts whenever Snape deemed it safe.

He waited anxiously for the sight of an owl on a horizon and the narrow, spidery scrawl of a date and time. After his year of trying to infiltrate Hogwarts amidst the presence of Dementors, he knew how to remain quiet and hidden from any late-night wanderers. In fact, sneaking into Hogwarts felt far too easy, the castle seeming abandoned of life besides Snape in his tower.

Snape wouldn’t look at him, would barely even talk, but he would lie down in the bed, arms wrapped tightly around himself, and wait for Sirius to slide in. Sirius always moved carefully, imparting as much kindness and gentleness as he could. He would hold Snape, and before he fell asleep, he would lean over to kiss his cheek.

More often than not, silent tears had wetted Snape’s cheek, and he would always clasp onto Sirius’s hand, grip often making Sirius’s hand go numb in its intensity. Despite the discomfort, Sirius let him.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had seen Snape cry. Once a long time ago when he had taken out his anger and frustration at Sirius. Another time when Regulus died. Finally, when Sirius came to him with the evidence of his abuse as a child. Besides that, he had rarely seen Snape give into to his emotions.

Yet, in the safety of Sirius’s embrace, Snape curled up on himself, tears streaking his cheeks and hands shaking ever so slightly. He would, again, rarely speak, but he would mutter out his apologies, seemingly ashamed of his weakness.

Sirius would always shush him. He would brush a strand of hair behind his ear and begin to whisper words of comfort, sweet nothings about his bravery and goodness and how he was alright and safe and how Sirius loved him and how everything would be worth it.

Only then would Snape fall asleep. More nights than not, he would twist in the grips of a nightmare, and Sirius would shake him awake, disturbed from his own sleep. He never asked, and Snape never told him, but he would repeat those words of love and comfort, and once again, Snape would fall asleep, trembling in his arms.

Before dawn, Sirius would slip out, paws crossing the frosted grass and his heart heavy with the weight of Snape’s suffering.

Only a fool would be blind to the fact that something was deeply, horribly wrong. Sirius _knew_ – he saw the agony in the bend of Snape’s neck as he kept his face downward and hidden from Sirius’s gaze. He felt the way that Snape’s breath would catch in the back of his chest, the shuddering, panicked gasp when Sirius would kiss the wetness on his cheek. He felt the isolation Snape had wrapped around himself, the grief of living in the room of someone Snape had loved and murdered.

They didn’t kiss, besides the tender ones Sirius would leave on his cheek and the top of his head and his freezing hands. Sex wasn’t even an option, even though Sirius had to repress his desire.

Sirius did wish that they would speak through. He tried, keeping his comments trite and devoid of any mention of the war. He mentioned the weather mostly, aware of how horribly cliché it was to have nothing else to discuss.

Snape responded with the barest minimum, simple one-word answers, and those tight, jerky shrugs as if he could barely summon the energy to acknowledge Sirius.

He didn’t know what had happened to the man who had saved him from the Veil, but this Snape had buried himself so deeply that Sirius thought he would never reach him again. He wished he could get Snape out of the Headmaster’s office and somewhere not haunted by the ghost of his mentor, but Snape always refused, citing the risk of exposure.

He asked Snape one night who he talked to now. He had spent the day thinking of who would still like Snape, and beside the Death Eaters, who he knew Snape hated and who likely resented Snape in return, and the possibility of the Hogwarts staff – McGonagall or Pomfrey or Flitwick – he could think of no one else.

Snape took a long moment to respond, fingers curled around the cup of tea Sirius had brewed. The steam rose from the cup, and he stared vacantly into it.

“The portraits,” he answered, causing Sirius to look around the room at the deceased Headmasters. He didn’t continue, and Sirius bent over in concern.

“Anyone else?” he continued, hesitating as Snape continued to stare into his tea.

Snape only shrugged, twisting the cup in his hold. “You,” he added, and Sirius felt the simultaneous urge to both laugh and cry.

They did not have conversations, and Snape’s isolation, his abandonment and rejection by the ones he had cared for and respected, sliced into Sirius and cut him into ribbons.

**++++++++++++**

Sirius confronted Dumbledore over it one night. Or at least, he confronted his portrait which held a shadow of his existence.

“How could you do this to him?” he demanded, his voice a low hiss. He had left Snape asleep in the bedroom, but he knew how lightly he slept. Dumbledore blinked himself awake and frowned.

“Sirius, it had to be done.”

Sirius scoffed harshly. “Not this, Dumbledore, not what you’ve done to him.”

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and leaned forward. “It _had_ to be done. Or else, the war is lost.”

“Bullshit,” Sirius snarled.

Dumbledore regarded him, blue eyes a mockery of the life they used to contain. “His actions,” he explained quietly. “His sacrifices prevent You-Know-Who from assuming an insurmountable power. If not for him and what he did, Harry will have no chance.”

“I don’t believe you,” Sirius muttered, glaring at the brushstrokes. Of course, he didn’t know any better – perhaps Dumbledore was truly telling the truth. However, he couldn’t so easily believe in the decision to push Snape to his very lowest.

Dumbledore gazed at him with a sorrowful expression, the paint shifting in tandem with his movements. “I know, Sirius,” he conceded, and perhaps he did know. Sirius knew he had cared for Snape and to see a once great man reduced to nothing must also pain the brush strokes of his heart.

Sirius still snorted, unwilling to relent in his need to blame this nightmare on someone else. “You should see him,” he said harshly.

Dumbledore nodded, shutting his eyes. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Sorry for the delay in the update - given the stress of my schoolwork, I haven't been able to write as much as I usually like. I would continue to expect some slower update speeds until I'm at least through the worst of my semester. 
> 
> I also spent October writing for a variety of prompts (which I have in the series October). They're all a bit over the place but may be worth checking out. I'm hoping to get back to my other WIPs soon. 
> 
> With that, thank you and I hope you enjoyed it! I found this chapter devastatingly sad given Snape's isolation and Sirius's struggle to reach him again.


	4. Iron Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was writing this chapter, I completely forgot how to write past tense and shifted to present. I stuck with it because I felt like it fits the second half of the story better. I hope you don't mind the change, and please excuse any minor tense mistakes (I tried to catch everything, but some will always slip through). 
> 
> The title is from the song Iron Sky by Paolo Nutini.

In March, Remus rushes into the guest room Sirius has made his own, breathless and alarmed. Sirius immediately tenses and reaches for his wand – a spare Andromeda has loaned. It doesn’t work nearly as well as his old one, but the mists had claimed it as he had fallen through that endless void.

“What’s wrong?” Sirius demands, fear ballooning in his stomach.

“Harry,” Remus gasps. Sirius feels like he stands on the edge of a gaping pit and a single push will send him spiraling into the abyss. Then Remus smiles. “I know where he is. He’s alright. Merlin, Sirius, grab your coat.”

Sirius does so, and Remus grabs at his forearm, twisting him through the whirlwind of apparition until they land on an empty beach.

Sirius shivers against the cutting wind and regards the distant storm clouds with a worsening sense of trepidation. He scans the horizon, searching for a figure with messy black hair but sees nothing.

“Where-?” he mutters, but Remus shakes him off and sets off, climbing a hidden set of stairs. He seems familiar with the place as Sirius wonders where they could possibly be. He follows behind, careful not to slip on the wet steps.

Bill Weasley waits at the top. However, it isn’t the Bill Weasley he remembers–young and daring and self-assured. He still carries a determination and quiet strength that strikes Sirius like Snape, but something has mutilated him and ravaged his youth, scars ruining the smoothness of his face.

It takes him a minute – a minute far too long as Remus stands beside him sharing the same scars.

“Bill?” he gasps, turning to Remus. Understanding crosses Remus’s face.

“Not fully. Grayback attacked him when he wasn’t turned. Some wolfish tendencies, but nothing like me.”

Bill nods in agreement and then smiles and pulls Sirius into a loose hug. “It’s so good to see you again, Sirius. Harry’s going to be so-.”

“Where he is?” Sirius demands, aware of his rudeness but too anxious to care.

“Oh right. Shell Cottage,” Bill states. Sirius blinks as a small cottage appears on a cliffside overlooking the beach.

“He’s…?” Sirius asks, gesturing towards the house. Bill nods, and Sirius takes off. Remus and Bill follow shortly behind. As they walk to the cottage, Bill explains how Harry had arrived here with Ron and Hermione and a few others after escaping from Malfoy Manor. Sirius shudders and picks up his pace.

They reach the cottage, Bill opening the door to let them in. Sirius first hears a melodious French voice he couldn’t place.

“Bill,” the woman calls. “Do you have them?”

“Yeah,” Bill responds, leading Sirius and Remus through the cramped entranceway to the small living room.

Sirius hears a glass drop and shatter and someone gasping out his name, but he can’t focus on anything but Harry. Harry looks much older than he last remembered, aged past his years by the war. His eyes, however, shine with determination, and they widen in shock as he stares at Sirius.

“Harry,” Sirius whispers, crossing the small, cramped room to pull the boy into his arms. Harry tenses but then settles into the embrace, pulling at the fabric of Sirius’s jacket.

“H-how?” he stutters. “Sirius?”

“Veil didn’t want me,” Sirius lies. “Spat me out the other side.”

“When? When did-?”

“In December. Right around Christmas. I guess, Merlin, you wouldn’t have known?”

Harry shakes his head, pulling back to stare at Sirius. “No, I didn’t. But you’re you? Really you?”

Sirius nods slowly. “As much as I’ve ever been. Good lord, Harry, where have you been?”

“We – well, hiding,” Harry explains. Sirius can’t help himself as he runs a hand down the side of Harry’s hair. James, he thinks, you would be so proud.

Harry’s eyes grow wet at the gesture. He turns away, rubbing a hand at his face. “Are you alright?” Sirius asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah, fine. A bit of a scare, but we’re doing okay.”

“You and Ron and Hermione, right?” Sirius confirms, glancing around the room. Ron looks pale with shock and Hermione has her hand pressed over her mouth. They’re two others – a blond girl with a dreamy look in her eyes and a tall boy Sirius doesn’t recognize.

“You’re his dead godfather, aren’t you?” the blonde asks, owlish eyes staring at Sirius. “Harry was so sad when you died.”

Her words cast the room into silence, and Sirius feels guilt sink in his gut. Harry turns to her, frowning slightly but not commenting.

“That’s Luna,” Hermione introduces. “And Dean.” She gestures to the other man. “Also Fleur.” A stunning blonde woman smiles from the doorway, and, against his common sense, Sirius becomes breathless at her beauty. He can’t rationalize his reaction – he had loved and wanted only Severus Snape for the past twenty years of his life.

“Alright,” Sirius nods. “And everyone’s alright? Or at least…”

Hermione nods. “Yeah, I mean, um well we were captured by some snatchers and escaped from Bellatrix and the Malfoys, but….and we lost Dobby.”

“Dobby?” Sirius asks, unfamiliar with the name.

Harry speaks, voice streaked with emotion. “A free elf. He saved us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

Harry’s eyes grow distant for a moment. “He died a hero’s death.”

“It’ll be worth it,” Sirius finds himself saying. Harry turns to him confused. “All the sacrifices. The pain. The loss. It’ll be worth it in the end.”

“You think so?” Ron asks hesitantly.

“For a free world?” Sirius pauses, closing his eyes briefly. “Yes.”

**+++++++++**

Sirius takes Harry on a walk that afternoon.

They can’t stay. Remus needs to get back to Tonks, and Sirius has carved out his own role in the resistance that he can’t simply abandon. Moreover, he cannot forsake Snape; he sees the man every week and a half or so, and he is not so naïve to fail to understand the importance of their rendezvous.

Harry understands. They all do, for Sirius knows they have a mission to complete and a war to win, and while a teary reunion with a once dead man may be nice, it pales in comparison to the grander scale of what they must accomplish.

So he asks Harry to go on a walk with him. The wind has whipped up the ocean, waves rolling against the shore. A metallic tang coats his tongue – the taste of the encroaching storm. The air feels heavy and alive. Sirius watches the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Harry,” he says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Harry, what can I do?”

He’s not looking at Harry. Harry isn’t looking at him. They both closely examine the sandy path and the distant ocean, and like this, they can both speak.

“I can’t tell you, Sirius,” Harry replies, sounding older and stronger than Sirius last remembered. “Dumbledore…”

“I know, Harry. I’m not asking you that.”

“Oh, well then…” Harry pauses. “We’re nearing the end, I think. I hope. And I…if you can be ready for that.”

“Harry…”

“Sorry, Sirius,” Harry apologizes quickly. “We’ve been doing it alone for so long. I don’t really know what to say. Just stay alive this time, I guess?” he adds with an awkward laugh. Sirius frowns and reaches out to pull Harry against his shoulder, bodies colliding for a moment.

“Sorry about that, kid. It’s an awful thing I did.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry corrects quickly, causing Sirius to shrug.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“And,” Harry pauses, considering something. “You really don’t remember? How you got out?”

Sirius shakes his head and lies again. “No. I woke up a year and a half later, and I-I can’t remember much. Just the sensation of falling until I finally hit the ground. I wish I could tell you more.”

Harry nods in understanding. “I’m really happy that…well, it’s nice to see you again, Sirius. I, uh, I missed you.”

Sirius shuts his eyes, feeling sick at the guilt of abandoning Harry. “I missed you too, pup. And you’re doing alright? Truly? Besides the war and all that?”

Harry exhales a puff of air and smiles wirily. “More or less. Hermione and Ron have been…I couldn’t have done it without them. Oh, we also stayed in Grimmauld Place in the beginning!” he adds excitedly. “I know you hate him, but we gave Kreacher something of your brothers, and he, well, he actually treated us really nicely.”

“My brother?” Sirius asks, surprised that Harry mentioned him. He grimaces at the idea of Kreacher.

“Regulus?”

“Yeah,” Sirius replies, gazing at the horizon as the ancient grips of grief and shame grab at his heart.

“Do you…” Harry proceeds carefully, appearing uncertain on how to approach the topic. “Do you know what happened to him?”

Sirius sighs and runs a hand over his face. “He joined the Death Eaters. When he was eighteen. Um, he, and then he died when he nineteen.” He swallows hard and rubs at the rough stubble on his chin. “We don’t know how, but I do know that he had betrayed You-Know-Who. Snape-.”

“Snape?” Harry interrupts. Sirius curses at himself and his stupid tongue.

Sirius tries to impart as much casualness as he can muster. “Snape and Reggie were friends. Snape got me to talk to Reggie when he mentioned he thought he might not survive what he was planning to do. To see if I could change his mind. I- I couldn’t but that’s how I know some of what happened. Otherwise…” he breaks off. “I failed my brother, Harry. I…I abandoned him. He was a quiet kid, a good kid, but I saw him as…as an evil Slytherin. So I would never have known if not for Snape.”

Sirius can feel the tension radiating off of Harry, and he curses himself again for mentioning Snape’s name. He doesn’t want to talk about him here, not like this and not where he has to lie.

“Snape killed you,” Harry growls, surprising Sirius with the rage in his voice. Sirius blinks, completely taken aback by Harry’s proclamation.

“He didn’t,” Sirius responds, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“He…he goaded you the entire year. All that stuff he would say to you.”

“So?” Sirius asks, furrowing his brow in confusion. He had said just as worse back, always with the undercurrent that they didn’t truly mean what they said – just that it was the closest they could manage to a display of affection.

“So,” Harry continues, growing quiet. “So when I told him You-Know-Who had you, he…he goaded you again. And then you…”

“No,” Sirius cuts in. “No, Harry, that was my decision.”

“But-.”

Sirius shakes his head. “No, Harry, listen. Snape told me to stay.”

“Because-.”

“Because he knew the risk. Even if – they could have captured me again. Thrown me back in Azkaban. And he didn’t…I know we look like we hate each other, but we don’t actually want the other to die.”

“Sirius-,” Harry continues to protest. Sirius stops to look at him.

“No, listen to me, Harry. _I_ chose to go. I _had_ to go. It wasn’t anything Snape said, it wasn’t some noble act because I was sick of my house, it was because…because I love you, Harry. You – I would die a thousand death before I let anything happen to you. I…Merlin, you’re like a son to me Harry.”

Their eyes meet and hold, and Sirius feels the vulnerability of his confession rake across his chest. However, dead men don’t often get second chances. With Harry, Sirius would finally speak what he had always thought. He would not die in silence again.

Harry gets a misty look in his eyes and looks away quickly, staring back across the horizon. “I’ve always thought…I’ve…it was…” Harry fumbles, the words thick and heavy. Sirius doesn’t need to hear him say it, so he slings his arm around Harry’s shoulder and pulls him to his side. He presses his chin into the top of Harry’s head and sighs, holding Harry protectively to his side.

For a moment, Sirius’s mind flashes to Snape – another person he loved, he held, he swore he would keep safe even though the world remained intent on harming him. Severus and Harry, he thinks. The two sides of his heart.

“You know,” Sirius murmurs, “James would be so proud of you. Lily, too.” He can tell Harry has started to cry, but he doesn’t comment on it. He only continues to hold Harry, hand rubbing into his shoulder as he often does with Snape. Harry’s sniffles subside after a few moments, but he remains close to Sirius.

“You think?” he asks roughly.

Sirius nods. “I know. _I’m_ proud of you, Harry. Merlin, I still remember you as this little baby, all snot and grabby hands and these big green eyes. And to think…to think you turned out like this. Of course, they’d be proud of you, Harry.”

“Thanks, Sirius,” Harry whispers. Sirius presses a kiss on top of his head and pulls him into a hug.

“You’re going to be alright, kid. Whatever happens. You’ve got us, and you’ve got – got all that strength inside of you. Whatever happens, Harry, you’ll be alright.”

“So will you, Sirius,” Harry murmurs into his chest. Sirius makes a sound in acknowledgment.

“So will I,” he agrees, hoping against all hope. “So will I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's to say about my absence - school, life, and it turned out, a need for a break. I can't assure when the next upload should be, but I still wanted to put this one up and try to get back into a rhythm of posting. Even though we don't see Severus, I do hope Harry makes up for it. 
> 
> Thank you all again for taking the time to read, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	5. Edge of Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title for the chapter comes from Edge of Darkness by Greta Van Fleet. 
> 
> TWs for some gore. You'll know what I mean when you near it. It's not too bad, but I did want to note it just in case. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

It’s in May when it ends.

It’s exactly three days before the anniversary of his death when Sirius finds himself rushing through a begrimed tunnel as a boy named Neville Longbottom leads him from Hog’s Head to the Hogwarts Castle.

It’s chaos and the gut-wrenching realization that it’s _happening_. All Sirius can think of is Harry and Snape. Everything else comes to him in scattered snapshots – Bill emerging with his beautiful wife, and a kid Sirius learns is Dean Thomas shaking his hand, and Molly yelling at Ginny to stay put.

He doesn’t know what’s happening, only that he is frightened and anxious and panicked and needing it both to end and never to start.

He stays close with Remus and Tonks as groups form and battle plans are drawn up. They discuss the state of Hogwarts, the defenses and weaknesses, and Sirius tries to listen but he can’t bring himself to focus.

Finally, he manages to ask as discreetly as he can manage where Snape, that evil git, is. He wants to hear that Snape has barricaded himself in the Headmaster’s office or is currently imprisoned by some Order member in the dungeons.

Molten panic washes over him when Flitwick explains that Snape fled, likely to return to his beloved Master. There had been a confrontation, and Snape had flown out into the night. Sirius tries to swallow, but his throat has gone too dry. He can only manage a nod in acknowledgment.

The idea of Snape, alone, surrounded by Death Eaters, preparing to fight on the wrong side of the war, consumes Sirius. Desperation wells in him, and it’s in that moment of weakness that he lets it slip to Remus, Tonks, Hermione, and Luna that dear lord if any of them see Snape, please to let him know. They all look at him confused, uncertain of what to make of his request. Only Luna nods knowingly and smiles consolingly.

“Of course,” she agrees. “You must worry about him greatly. I know he would want to be with you.”

Sirius chokes. He has no idea how to respond, no idea how this strange girl saw straight to the root of their relationship. “No, I just – Snape and I -,” he stumbles words like clunky marbles in his mouth. Luna simply reaches to rest her hand on his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” she comforts quietly. “I know he loves you.”

A million questions fly through Sirius’s head – who is the girl and how does she _know?_ He tries to think of a single thing to say but only manages, “Yeah, well, I just-just if you see him.”

Remus stares at him stunned, and Tonk’s gaze has narrowed considerably. Hermione stares at him as if piecing something together, and Sirius itches under her gaze.

“Sirius?” Remus asks slowly. Sirius shakes his head, fighting against the feeling of strangulation.

“He-,” he forces out, devoid and air and seeming to speak from a great distance. “I’ll explain after. But if any of you see him –I-.”

Luna nods, hand still resting lightly on Sirius’s shoulder, until a girl with back hair calls her away. Hermione looks posed to act something, but Ron rushes up to her, grabs her arm and gestures for them to leave. Hermione looks torn but follows Ron.

Remus, however, still hasn’t moved. “Sirius?” he asks again, voice softer than Sirius would have expected. It’s the tone and the surprised, but understanding look in Remus’s eyes that compels Sirius, suddenly so tired of lying and pretending, to speak. Anyways, what did it matter? They could all be dead by morning.

“I – yes. We…it -,” he starts haltingly and then stops, having no words to express their meeting and resulting romance twenty years ago. “He and I…”

“Is that where you go?” Remus asks suddenly, “Where you would go at night?” When he nods, Tonks stares at him with a wounding look of betrayal.

“He killed Albus,” she growls, the betrayal bitter on her face.

“I know,” he admits. “I know, but it wasn’t – it was never. He’s fighting on our side, Tonks. I know you don’t believe me, and I understand, but he’s on our side. Truly.” 

Tonks scoffs harshly. Remus has paled, still seeming shocked by the admission.

“Sirius-,” Remus tries again, but Sirius shuts his eyes and interrupts.

“I’ve loved him since I was twenty years old, Remus,” he forces out in a rush of air. “We met in a bar, and it… I couldn’t get enough of him. We had to keep it secret. It was so dangerous, with him being our spy and everything else. That’s why I never told you. I’m sorry, Remus, I am. I know what he’s done, but I love him. And he’s-for years, I’ve loved him.” At Tonk’s skepticism, he continues. “I know what he’s like, but he’s not a heartless git. He – he pulled from the Veil, Moony. He found a spell, something, but I remember-I remember his hand reaching for me. He pulled me out and brought me back to life. So I know, I know, but -,” Sirius breaks off, unable to continue.

Remus meets his gaze, brown eyes rich and soft and almost pained. “I understand,” he whispers, the space between them fragile. “I understand, Sirius. If we see him, we’ll tell you.”

“Thank you,” Sirius mutters back. Unable to take it anymore, he leaves them to go sit for a while as the others discuss how to keep everyone safe despite the darkness gathering around them.

**++++++++**

Sirius had just pushed Remus out of the path of a killing curse when Hermione’s silver otter finds him amongst the battle.

Sirius stares at it transfixed, the rest of the battle fading before him. The otter does a quick loop and then settles in front of him and speaks in a frantic hush.

“We’ve found him. Shrieking Shack. Quick. Be careful.”

Sirius spares one final glance at Remus and Tonks – Tonks had just managed to best the Death Eater who had cast the killing curse at Remus, and Remus, spinning on his feet, blocks a curse from another that would have hit Tonks. The Death Eaters falter, and the two of them gain the upper hand.

He takes off running immediately after, feet pounding amongst the rubble and breath short in his chest. He realizes as he bounds down a staircase, dodging curses and shoving past pockets of students, that he could move much faster as Padfoot. 

He transforms mid-run. Padfoot now navigates the chaos of the battle, scampering around rubble. He runs faster than he has ever run before, panting as his legs burn and paws ache. He doesn’t stop. He can feel nothing but determination. 

A doorway collapses behind him, and the shock of stone slamming the ground sends him stumbling forward. The scene has devolved into chaos, and Padfoot can barely tell what’s happening. Screams fill his ears, his eyes burn from smoke, and he smells the stench of fear and rage. He makes it outside, surrounded by far more black cloaks than anything else. However, no one seems sure what to make a dog, and no one casts a curse towards him. He sprints the final stretch, muscles screaming for oxygen.

He reaches the Whomping Willow in record speed, deftly dodges its swinging branches, and throws himself into the tunnel.

It’s too late.

He can smell it before he can see or hear it. The sharp coppery tang of blood. The stale sickness of death. The pungent smell of fear and sweat. It’s all there, and then Padfoot hears it – a harsh gurgling sound and a rasping breath and his mate, the most important person in his life, in pain and dying.

He transforms back, dimly registers Hermione and Ron, and throws himself beside Harry and the man crumpled against the wall.

Snape rasps something at the boy, but Sirius can’t make out anything beyond the gaping wound on Snape’s neck and the blood– oh lord, how could there be this much blood? It coats Snape’s neck and runs down his arm and chest. Sirius stares stupidly at the blinding redness for a moment struggling to process the horror of the sight in front of him.

Harry startles when he sees him, but Sirius can’t make out anything beyond Snape’s hand pressing uselessly against his neck as if trying to staunch the flow of life out of his body. Unsure of what to do, Sirius presses his own hand against the terrible wound. The blood seeps around his fingers, sticky and burning. He feels numb. He feels lost. He doesn’t know what is happening.

Snape shifts his gaze toward Sirius, eyelids starting to flicker shut. Sirius lets out a sob when he sees the frail ember of life flickering into darkness in Snape’s eyes. He knows he’s saying words – _I love you_ , he thinks. _Severus_. _No, no, no_ – but he can’t hear anything beyond the roaring in his ears.

He feels the world dying around him, every breath pushing him towards the abyss. He wishes he was back in the Veil, lost and forgotten in the fog. He keeps his hand on the wound but uses his other hand to cradle Snape’s cheek, pushing aside the sweaty hair. He whispers in broken promises that it’ll be okay, it’s alright, he was so brave and strong, and that he can rest now and Sirius will never leave him and always, _always_ , love him.

Snape gargles helplessly, and Sirius knows that sound will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He feels Harry’s hand against his own, trying to tug it away from Snape’s neck. Sirius struggles against him – why doesn’t he understand that he didn’t want Snape to die? Why doesn’t he feel the agony of Sirius’s grief?

Harry’s grasp turns firm, and he succeeds in yanking Sirius’s hand away. Sirius turns his head to yell at him when he catches sight of a living flame. To Sirius, it must be the most beautiful thing in the world.

This living flame, this most beautiful thing in the world, is crying. It is crying on Snape’s neck, head tilted at an angle as glistening tears leek from its dark eyes. As the tears hit the ragged gash, the wound starts to knit itself back together, the poison hissing into the air. Sirius stares stunned and shakes his head to clear his thoughts. This can’t – but no, Sirius isn’t wrong – the wound _is_ healing.

Snape breathes in halted gasps, shuddering as the flesh starts to heal. Sirius chokes against the feeling of hope and leans in to cradle Snape’s face. He presses a kiss against his damp forehead and prays with everything he has for his lover to open his eyes. Four more ragged breaths and a glimmer of black as Snape slits his eyes open. He stares unfocused, body limp.

Snape’s eyes widen a fraction more, and he manages to focus on Sirius. Sirius knows he looks awful – splotchy cheeks and red eyes and snot running onto his lip. He knows no dying man would want to witness anything like him, but it doesn’t matter as he cradles Snape’s head in his palms, thumbs stroking the ashen cheeks.

Snape blinks and then his gaze shifts, turning to look at phoenix who watches him with a cocked head. Its feathers singe the air with their fiery hue, and it stretches its elegant neck to nuzzle against Snape’s chin.

“Fawkes,” Harry whispers, and Sirius joltingly remembers the phoenix from years and years ago, perching on a stand as Dumbledore lectured James and him. Fawkes caws in recognition, considers Snape for another long moment, and then takes off, the goldish red of its wings alighting the ramshackle room with color.

It disappears, flying out of a broken window. The room falls still. Sirius bites back the sobs of enormous relief as Harry, Hermione, and Ron watch stunned. Snape takes a moment and then turns toward Sirius. For the first time since the Veil, Snape meets his gaze, eyes ragged and beaten. Sirius bites his inner cheek to ground himself against the torrent of emotions.

Snape tries to speak, mouth moving and lips pursing, but no sound comes out. He tries again with notable desperation, and Sirius watches as panic floods his gaze. Sirius shushes him, not wanting Snape to worry until they can get him somewhere safe. He leans forward to press a careful kiss against Snape’s white lips, unwilling to face that a few phoenix tears separated his lover from a corpse.

Snape lifts a hand with difficulty to grasp at the fabric of Sirius’s robes, causing Sirius to shift closer and kiss him again, this time on the sweat beading his forehead. He’s trembling with relief, bloodied hands shaking as they stroke at Snape’s damp hair.

Harry is the first voice he hears, and he sounds numb with shock. “Sirius?”

At the sound of the boy’s voice, something defeated crosses Snape’s eyes, and he starts to close them again.

“No, my love,” Sirius orders firmly, remembering the rules of first aid he knows, “Keep your eyes open for me.” Snape wearily opens them again, and Sirius knows they need to get medical attention as soon as possible. Despite the wound healing, Snape still lost far too much blood.

Sirius rubs quickly at his face and turns to face Harry. Harry’s eyes are wide, the shock apparent on his face. Sirius ignores his stunned state and takes him in. He hasn’t seen Harry since arriving at Hogwarts, and the fact that Harry still looks alright sends another wave of relief through him.

Hermione takes action first, reaching out a hand to rest it on Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius wonders how he can ever thank her for her kindness. Even if Snape had…even if Snape had died, at least Sirius would have been there. He could imagine nothing worse than to find Snape’s body, broken and bloody lying across the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

“Harry, I…” he stumbles, not knowing what to say. Hermione saves him.

“Sirius, we need to get him to Hogwarts.” She miraculously hands him two blood replenishing potions that she summons out of a small purple bag. “This will help for now, but he needs…”

Sirius nods, takes the potions, and brings them carefully to Snape’s lips. Snape swallows with considerable difficulty, but his cheeks turn from deathly pale to worryingly pale. Sirius bites back another sob of relief.

“Could you…could you help me carry him up?” he asks, uncaring at the desperation in his voice. Hermione pushes Ron forward, and the red-head bends down, carefully avoiding Snape’s gaze. Together, they manage to pull Snape up so that his arms are slung around their shoulders. He leans heavily against Sirius, gripping at Sirius’s shoulder. His face contorts in pain as his head lolls against Sirius’s shoulder and aggravates his neck. He still doesn’t make a sound.

Sirius mummers his apologies and shifts his stance to better support Snape. With great care, they navigate out of the Shrieking Shack and through the tunnel. Everyone is dead silent, the tension thick. He starts to say something when Voldemort’s voice booms through the tunnel. Sirius nearly drops Snape, who begins to panic. His ragged breaths turn into heaving gasps, and he tries to throw himself to the ground. Sirius holds him upright and pulls him flush. He has his wand in his hand, anxious for an attack. 

When nothing happens, they realize that Voldemort had cast his voice throughout the entire castle. Snape continues to tremble, eyes pressed shut as if trying to block out the sound. Sirius holds him closely and keeps his wand out.

Harry tenses as they listen to the ultimatum. Harry’s life for theirs. At midnight or the castle burns.

The voice cuts off, and in the resounding silence, Sirius turns to Harry.

“You don’t-,” he protests. Harry cuts him off.

“I know, Sirius. Let’s…let’s just get to the castle first.” Harry looks troubled, doing nothing to dispel Sirius’s worry. Hermione’s gaze flickers among the group as if trying to piece something together.

They start again, traversing the tunnel and climbing out onto the grounds. When they’re halfway back to the castle, Sirius decides to address the heavy tension.

“I was twenty,” he begins slowly, voice low and gravelly. He coughs to clear his throat. Snape tenses beside him, head bent down. “I met him at a bar. We hadn’t meant for it to happen. We hadn’t seen each other since Hogwarts and hated each other. But we kept seeing each other. Kept meeting up. Neither of us could stop it, even though it made no sense. It was insanely dangerous. After…after some time, we fell in love. It was a good thing too. We were able to save people together, even if we couldn’t tell anyone. Except your parents knew, Harry. We did tell them. But it was – you understand, it was as secret a relationship as one could have.”

The teenagers remain quiet, so he continues, light with the confession. He once had thought their love would die completely in the dark. He’s beyond grateful that it won’t. “We’ve always loved each other, Severus and I, and -.”

“But in the shack, my third year, you two-,” Harry interrupts, voice tight. Sirius sighs.

“My time in Azkaban, the dementors – they messed me up, Harry. Badly. I-,” he chokes and breaks off. He breathes in the top of Snape’s head to steady himself. “So you see, I didn’t process things well. I only had thoughts for Pettigrew, and Severus – it had been thirteen years. Who knew – who knew what that meant? So no, that night wasn’t a good night for the either of us. It took until February of 96 for us to figure it out again. We,” he huffs out a laugh. “We had always fought. Merlin, since we were eleven. So it came easily to us, fighting. I know it seemed I hated him. At points I did and at points I had to pretend, but deep down, I never stopped loving him. You – you might understand one day. I’m-,” he pauses “I’m sorry I never told you, Harry. In another world-.” 

“I – I understand, Sirius. It’s alright,” Harry states softly. Sirius relaxes at his tone.

Hermione speaks from beside him. “How did you get out of the Veil, Sirius?”

Smart girl, he wants to say. “He got me out,” he explains to Harry and Ron’s numb shock. “He reached through and pulled me out. Severus had always…he’s a brilliant wizard. He creates spells, and he figured one out to get me. Without him, I would still be in there. Falling.”

Hermione, he realizes, has started crying. Snape doesn’t move or try to look at any of them. Sirius tightens his grip on his waist.

“Thank you, Hermione, for telling me. For letting me know where he was.”

Hermione nods. “Of course, I’m just glad it wasn’t…that it’s alright.”

“Me too,” Sirius sighs. As they walk back up to Hogwarts, he doesn’t think he has felt anything nearly as hopeful as Snape’s body pressed against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Start posting again, she says, stop sitting on your fics and give your readers what they want. A good note - while I've been avidly reading this past winter, I can feel myself itching to start writing again. I'm hoping that I can capitalize on that and not get swamped by my never-ending stream of school work (unlikely). Regardless, I am going to focus on getting this story up, so at least there's that. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I had to change canon - usually, I stick close with it and welcome death but I just couldn't do it here. Besides after everything, Sirius and Severus deserve a chance together. I'm sure you all feel the same.


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